Breaking the Habit
by abovetheruins
Summary: Eragon finds himself contemplating his habit, his flaw, and his brother, only to meet the object of his thoughts in battle. Murtagh/Eragon


**Notes:** Hello all! This is my first step into the Eragon fandom (hopefully I won't screw it up too badly... )

**Warnings:** Romance between Eragon and Murtagh, meaning slash, incest, malexmale... I'm sure you get the point. It's slight, but it's definitely there. Please keep any flames to yourself, as I've been clear enough in my warnings. It's the reader's own choice to read beyond this point.

The song is called, Breaking the Habit (see uncreative title) and it's by Linkin Park. Enjoy!:)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eragon. If I did, the movie would have featured an unconscious Arya (as she was meant to be), and would have featured much more Murtagh._  
_

Breaking the Habit

xXxKeYbLaDeMaStErxXx

_Memories consume_

_Like opening the wound_

_I'm picking me apart again_

_You all assume_

_I'm safe here in my room_

_Unless I try to start again_

It didn't matter what he did, or tried to erase. The memories would not leave him. He could meditate for hours, but it only brought a few precious moments of respite before they swarmed his mind once again. It was impossible to escape them.

He could almost feel Murtagh's -no, his brother's- eyes on him, staring at him cruely as his helmet was ripped away, mercilessly exposing their relationship for what it really was. Brothers, siblings... on opposite sides of the battlefield.

So much of it... so much of this twisted situation confused him. He felt... betrayed, by a close companion, a friend, one he had cared so much for. It made him question everything, if all of Murtagh's actions had just been a means to an end, a lie. Their friendly spars, their occasional fights, the warms smiles... even the moment that he had visited Murtagh during his imprisonment in the Varden, when the older boy had seemed happy, genuinely happy, to see him.

_I don't want to be the one_

_The battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

_ 'Was it all false?'_ He questioned, eyes downcast as he perched atop Saphira's muscular back, hardly seeing the ground passing by at a blur beneath her feathery wings. _'Am I supposed to forget it all?'_ The Varden certainly believed so. Nasuada had warned him time and time again.

"You must forget the past, Eragon," She had said, dark eyes weary and face haggard. The war had been hard on her, the responsibility of bearing the weight of the Varden a leaden weight on her shoulders. "Murtagh is not your ally anymore. He is Galbatorix's pawn, and will not hesitate to kill you should you become careless."

He wanted to yell at her, to tell her that he knew all of what she said, that the same thoughts kept him up at night. But... he couldn't. He could only nod and say that he understood, that he would never allow himself to drop his guard around the other Rider.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I know it's not alright_

_So I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

Why couldn't he ever say what he meant? Why was he constantly trying to be what everyone thought he should be? A fierce and courageous Dragon Rider, the last hope of the people, when all he really was lay so much deeper? He was a farm boy, a fifteen year old teenager with no idea what he was doing anymore. He was stronger, yes, braver. He knew what was expected of him and was determined to accomplish it, but...

_ 'Can I really kill my own flesh and blood to do it?'_

Murtagh, despite his position in this war, was still so very important to him. He could not do as the Varden wished and forget that. He could not label the other Rider as his enemy even if all evidence pointed to the contrary. It was just... not possible. It was almost as impossible as turning his back on Saphira. His dragon and his brother were as important to him as air. It was strange, when he had known both of them for so short a time, a mere drop in the hourglass that was his life, and yet the bonds he had forged with them both were too strong to brake.

_ 'He's become my habit... My... my flaw.'_ And truly, Murtagh was. He was Eragon's bad habit, a thing so easily consumed and yet so very difficult to brake from. He was the only thing that flawed him in the Varden's eyes. If anything his thoughts tonight had led him to that conclusion.

/Eragon?/

Saphira's quiet voice rushed into his mind, her concern radiating through their link. She had noticed his silence and the wayward strand of his thoughts, but had not intruded upon them until now. For that, Eragon was thankful. Saphira knew, always, when to leave him in peace and when he needed her input.

He smiled, though it was tired. \It's nothing, Saphira. I'm just thinking.\

/And I know which path your thoughts lead./ She huffed, annoyed at his dismissal.

\I know, Saphira.\ He sighed. He knew he could keep nothing from her. \What am I to do, when we face him?\ He had no need to clarify who he was.

/You alone know your own heart, Eragon./ Her wings flapped idly in the breeze. They were going at a slow pace, circling high above the traveling allies below. /Not even I can tell you what actions you must take. I know you feel... constricted, by your thoughts. It is not easy to change your views on someone you saw, still see, as an ally./ Her voice drifted; when she spoke again it was coated with concern, hesitant, amused, as though she wasn't sure herself of what she was yet to say. /As something... more, perhaps?/

Eragon's eyes swept to the side, gloved hands rising to mask his flushed cheeks. There was no surprise in his voice as he spoke, just... quiet acceptance the thing he had hoped to keep hidden was now out in the open air, free to breath a life of its own. \ I...\ He paused, a watery laugh escaping his throat. \I am afraid, Saphira, that even I do not know my heart.\

_Clutching my cure_

_I tightly lock the door_

_I try to catch my breath again_

_I hurt much more_

_Than anytime before_

_I had no options left again_

/Eragon... /

"Rider!"

Eragon jolted, hastily wiping a gloved hand over his moist eyes as he stared down at the Varden's soldiers. Nasuada's regal from was easy enough to pick out; he could see her assembling the troops and gesturing to him and to the night sky.

He knew what he would see the moment he raised his eyes, but it did not lessen the sharp twist of his heart.

"Murtagh." The Red Rider sat perched atop the massive form of his dragon. Thorn's ruby eyes flickered from Saphira to Eragon, waiting, his wings beating a rythem against the black sky. They were very few yards away from them, and Eragon inwardly cursed as he realized that his promise to Nasuada had gone unfulfilled; his guard could never be drawn against his brother.

"Little brother." Murtagh's voice rumbled. Not even the vicious shouts of Urgals and Varden soldiers clashing below could mask that voice. Eragon steeled himself, his heart thumping wildly as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

\Saphira.\ Sapphire eyes hardened as the dragon's mouth opened in a feral growl. She understood.

It was almost as if they could read each other's minds, he and his brother. As one they raised their swords, the blades shining red and silver in the moonlight, their dragons soaring at each other in one fell swoop. Talons raised, claws ripped at scaled flesh as blades collided, sparks glittering in the night air.

_I don't want to be the one_

_The battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

Their swords slid against each other, metal screeching. Their faces drew close to one another, dragons pressed close, their talons scraping the other's sides.

Dark hazel bored into chocolate brown, and Eragon found his breath stolen. The months of separation melted away into nothing.

_'Damnit!'_ He closed his eyes, foolish as the action seemed, his arms straining as he forced his sword closer, closer, meeting Zar'roc in a clang of steel. If he opened his eyes he knew he would fail, he knew it. One glance was all it would take.

"Eragon."

A gasp was torn from his throat as Thorn reared back, using his full weight to slam into Saphira. His talons dug into her long neck, his ruby tail wrapping around her hind legs. Saphira roared as she found herself pinned, side pressed against the other dragon and unable to move. One of her wings lay crushed against Thorn; they remained in the air supported only by the crimson dragon's wings.

Eragon could feel the sapphire dragon's distress, the frantic beat of her only free wing. He wanted to comfort her, to ease her worry, but could not find the will within himself to speak.

With their dragons pressed side to side, Eragon was pressed nearly leg to leg with his brother. Murtagh's hazel eyes regarded him fiercely behind a curtain of dark hair, Zar'roc held tightly at his side.

Eragon swallowed what felt like a mouthful of sand and brought up his own weapon, the moonlight glinting off the blade's edge. His arms felt leaden; he had to strain his muscles to bring his weapon down. Murtagh's eyes flashed with something Eragon couldn't name, before he brought his own blade up to block Eragon's own. Their swords clanged once again, the younger Rider wincing as his limbs screamed with the effort it took just to drive Zar'roc away. Why? Why was this so hard...?

He made the mistake of locking eyes with his adversary, and all thought processes froze. There was something fierce and almost _desperate _in his brother's eyes, his lips a grim line. The weight behind Zar'roc felt... lighter, not as strong as it could have been. Was... was Murtagh holding back?

_'No, he can't be... '_ As if to prove this Eragon forced more power into his arms, running on adrenaline now. His brother's blade was forced backward, inch by painful inch, but still Murtagh would not push back.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I'll never be alright_

_So, I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

_ 'He doesn't want to fight me.'_ The truth hit him like a strike from his enemy's blade. It was clear, if he just looked close enough. The fact that his brother was holding back at all was cause enough for alarm. He wasn't sure what he should do. _'The Varden are counting on me... I can't... I can't just let him go... '_ But, hadn't Murtagh done just that, many times before?

He couldn't do this. Not anymore. His strength had already left him before this battle had begun; the will to fight didn't burn in his heart as it should.

_'I don't want to fight.'_ With a quiet cry he let his sword fall away, and he allowed his head to fall. Saphira cried out in alarm, Zar'roc sung as it flashed through the air. Eragon didn't bother to raise his head, or to brace himself for the sharp sting of steel against his flesh. He knew, somehow, that it wouldn't come.

Silence stretched between the two; he could feel the tip of Zar'roc pressed, light as air, against his forehead. He waited, heart thundering in his chest, praying to whatever gods that were listening that he wasn't getting ahead of himself, seeing something only he wanted to be there.

_I'll paint it on the walls_

_'Cause I'm the one at fault_

_I'll never fight again_

_And this is how it ends_

His heart skipped a beat as finally, through the stillness his brother's voice echoed. "Eragon."

The sword left his person as he raised his head; it slid into its sheath with a note of finality. Eragon felt his heart roar into his throat as Murtagh stared at him, unsure now what he should do. He barely registered the sounds of battle echoing on the field below them, though he silently prayed for his comrades.

"I don't wish to fight you." The words came out almost against his will, though he couldn't deny the weight that lifted from his shoulders from admitting them. He watched as Murtagh's dark eyes widened. Even Thorn and Saphira seemed to freeze beneath them, the rustling of Thorn's wings the only sound between the pair of Riders.

Eragon felt his face heat as his brother continued to stare, a small smirk curling the older man's lips. He can feel Saphira tense beneath him as Murtagh leans across the small amount of space separating them; he tenses himself as warm breath fans his reddening face. "I... I... " He tries to say _something_, anything, but his heart is lodged somewhere between his mouth and throat, and nothing will come out.

But, sometimes, as he has come to learn over the years, actions speak far louder than words could ever hope, and Murtagh's arms slipping around his shoulders drive all hope of ever speaking again out of his mind.

It is... strange. There is no absolution, no finish, no end. He is leaning almost completely out of Saphira's saddle, dangerously close to falling, and his back aches from the awkward position. They are still Eragon and Murtagh, their positions have not changed and they are no closer to ending this war. Beneath them the battle still raises.

But, somehow... despite all of that... Eragon feels more at ease, more... _complete_, than ever before. His brother's arms are a warm cage around him, the chin resting against his shoulder a welcome weight. It is... indescribable, to feel the other after so long, to have him alive and pressed close against him. His entire being cries out with relief, his head resting against Murtagh's shoulder as he absorbs this feeling.

He barely notices as he is lifted from Saphira, held tight against Murtagh as their dragons gently disentangle. Saphira sticks close to her Rider, her eyes meeting with Murtagh's in silent understanding. She will allow him this comfort, the sapphire twins express, for now. Eragon doesn't notice as the dragons silently glide away from the battlefield, leaving their demons behind them, if only for a little while, if only for a small moment.

He understands it, now. He had always thought that Murtagh was his flaw, the one thing holding him back from completing his goals. He had thought that the red Rider was the habit he could not break. He had been wrong. His only flaw, the only thing keeping him chained, was his inability to think for himself. Since he had become a Rider, it was always, _always_ about what other's wanted, what others needed him to do. His wants, his needs, were pushed to the wayside. The Varden needed him to fight, to defeat Galbatorix, to face his brother in battle and come out victorious.

Eragon wanted something more. He wanted Alagaesia to be free of the king's power, yes, wanted to protect the people. But, he also wanted...

Lips fluttered across his forehead, as light as air, and he smiled. He knew what he wanted.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_But now I have some clarity_

_to show you what I mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I'll never be alright_

_So, I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

**End**

**Ending Notes:** You can let your imaginations go from there. I meant to end it this way (so there'll be no sequel-though I doubt anyone is upset about that... :) No clear ending, the war still rages, battles loom beyond the horizon. But, they can have this moment, at least. Please, tell me what you all thought. **  
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